


Freelance Good Guys: Nymph's Hollow

by TheGreys (alienjpeg)



Series: Looming Gaia [34]
Category: Looming Gaia
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Gore, Drama, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magic, Team as Family, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:47:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27662927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienjpeg/pseuds/TheGreys
Summary: The Forest of Refuge has suffered a great loss. Its native nymphs are hard at work restoring order to the land.
Series: Looming Gaia [34]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/833844
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	1. New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the Looming Gaia blog for concept art, discussions, memes and more: https://loominggaia.tumblr.com/post/175087795478/looming-gaia-masterpost
> 
> This story is more drama-oriented and less focused on action. Let's see what the inhabitants of Drifter's Hollow have been up to since their tragic disaster...

**[CHAPTER 1: NEW BEGINNINGS]**

_EARLY SPRING, 6008_

The Forest of Refuge was once a wild, green sanctuary that separated the Evangeline and Folkvar kingdoms. After the Divine of Hate had his way with it, the forest crumbled down into a gray, barren ashscape. The area around Drifter’s Hollow was decimated. The only green that could be seen were the trees on the horizon, standing across the line where the flames had not spread.

Drifter’s Hollow was the epicenter of the fires, where the trunks were the blackest and the ash was the deepest. It remained that way all through the cold seasons, silent and devoid of wildlife, for there were no plants to eat and no trees to roost in.

The local kingdoms cared not for the loss, and neither of them lifted a finger to send aid. This forest marked uncertain territory, the border between them too murky to tread. The border also sat in the shadow of the infamous Frostbite Crag. The Crag was known for the mighty cyclopes patrolling its peaks, occasionally coming down the mountain to cause trouble. Neither kingdom was willing to contend with all that.

So, the forest was left entirely in the hands of Gaia’s loyal daughters.

The limniads had been asleep underground since autumn of last year. They buried themselves when the weather grew cold, for that’s when the isanae moved in to stake their claim to the land. But now spring was upon the Hollow, the snow had melted away, and the isanae all retreated to the cold peaks of the Crag.

Off the main road through the village was a ring of heavy stones. Within the ring were tall stacks of even more stones, each stack decorated with shoes, jewelry, and other personal items salvaged from the ruins. Here the ashes began to stir. A slender, green hand clawed its way out of the dirt, followed by a second.

Slowly, Flora dug her way up from the safety of her underground sanctum. She encountered something alarming on the way, and emerged with a charred elven skull in her hands. She looked down in horror at the pile of bones surrounding her feet. Then she turned her gaze all around at a completely foreign landscape, as gray and silent as death itself.

Flora’s jaw dropped, green eyes unblinking. The skull dropped from her hands and clattered back into its grave with the other remains. “What…what happened here?” the nymph gasped. It seemed there was no one around who could answer her question, for the rooted dryads had all burned up into scaly, black trunks. There were no living witnesses to whatever tragedy occurred here. Flora rushed up and down every road in the Hollow and did not find a single villager.

She saw only her limniad sisters emerging from the ground, one by one. They broke the silence with their wails of fear and grief. As the chosen authority of Drifter’s Hollow, Flora tried to comfort them the best she could. They had all laid to rest for the cold season, and when they woke, everything they knew was gone.

Flora slowly wandered through the market plaza, inspecting the ruins of the inn. Her sisters followed close behind. “Perhaps it was a wildfire,” said Flora.

One of her sisters spat, “Or a candle,” as she rummaged through a pile of charred planks.

“Yes,” said another, “what if the villagers started it? The forest has never seen a fire like this before! It isn’t possible, they must have done something wrong!”

“I knew those settlers were going to be trouble!”

“Commoners ruin everything they touch!”

Murmured agreements spread around the crowd of limniads. They began to chatter, and the chatter escalated into an argument. Flora raised her hands and told them, “Sisters, please! Does it really matter at this point? Look around you!” She swept her hands around at the barren landscape.

Tears sparkled in her eyes as she continued, “Regardless of how this happened, this place is in dire need of help! We cannot be overcome by hate and bitterness. We must channel love back into this barren soil, enough to nurture a brand new forest. It will not be easy, and it will not happen overnight. But if we work together, we can restore the Forest of Refuge back to its former glory.” She looked at all the ash blanketing the ground. After a pause, she added, “In fact, I daresay we can make it even better than before.”

The limniads dispersed at Flora’s command, setting off to work on different areas of the forest. Flora made her way back to the dreary grave site she awakened from. She dropped to her knees in the ring of stones and began to cry. Her sisters could never understand how she felt about the villagers. They were not curious about them like she was. They did not interact with them like she did. They only hid themselves away whenever the villagers passed by, pretending to be part of the land while Flora made herself known.

She sang with the villagers, danced with them, drank and celebrated and played with them. She helped them in their times of need, shed tears with them, shared laughs with them. She hugged and kissed and fell in love with them. She had loved them for many lifetimes, and now they were gone with hardly a trace.

She had become their ambassador, the bridge between nymphs and peoples. It was only by Flora’s blessing that the village was allowed to exist at all. It did not exist anymore. Its destruction left the soil littered with ash and decaying flesh, but these grisly things would nourish new growth. Flora’s sisters let nothing go to waste. They skipped through the ashscape with ash and bones in hand, singing their magical incantations.

_“_ _From the mountains to the trees,_

_In the lakes and in the seas,_

_Friends of birds and honeybees,_

_You will see, you will see…”_

_“_ _From the mouths of volcanoes,_

_Every time the wind blows,_

_Thank your garden when it grows,_

_You will know, you will know_ _…”_

_“_ _Mother Gaia is alive,_

_So help her daughters to survive,_

_Open your arms when we arrive,_

_And you will thrive, you will thrive!”_

_“The mountains and the trees, all alive, all alive!_

_Every lake and every sea, so alive, so alive!_

_All the birds and honeybees,_

_In the flame and in the freeze,_

_Just stop and listen to the breeze,_

_Oh, won’t you hear us, hear us, please,_

_We are alive, all alive, so alive!”_

Tears spilled down Flora’s face, dropping into the ash below her. Each tear left a dark spot, from which a little green stalk sprouted. Flora dug her fingers into the ashy soil and let out a wail of grief, willing magic from her heart to her hands. She exerted every bit of magic within her, and the soil around her erupted with green growth. The growth spiraled outward, consuming the ground and the surrounding trees.

The stalks stretched into vines, growing and curling and winding up the blackened trunks. Branches split from the vines and unfolded into leaves, which gave way to buds, which bloomed into flowers. Within minutes, the entire area around the gravesite was covered with colorful daisies. It was a vibrant flash of life in an otherwise bleak landscape. Flora heard her sisters singing in the distance, saw traces of green where their feet had passed.

They were not as powerful as she. It would take all their combined efforts to restore the forest, and they would have to work tirelessly to do so before the cold season crept in again. Flora was determined by sheer grief alone. She could not stand to look at this ruined village any longer.

But she did not want to forget the villagers she had once loved with all her heart. When nymphs and animals died, they simply decayed and nourished the soil, which nourished the plants, which nourished more nymphs and animals. But peoples did not like to decay and be forgotten. Flora had spent enough time in their midst to know how much their dead meant to them, had attended enough burials to understand how to honor their memory.

So, she willed another bust of magic to her hands and struck the soil with her fingers, willing her power towards the graves in the ring. Long, green stalks shot up from the dirt. They tangled around the remains and unearthed them completely, carrying them high in the air. The vines wriggled like snakes, tangling into one another. They braided together, around eachother and around the bones, sprouting leaves and white blooms.

Before long, a great wreath stood in the middle of the graveyard, as tall as two men. From a distance, it appeared to be a ring of daisy clusters standing on a pedestal of ivy. Only when they stepped into the ring of stones would one notice the charred skulls and bones woven into the wreath. It was a monument of both life and death, a reminder of the peoples that once dwelled here, and of the tragedy that had befallen them.

Flora walked away from the monument. Little plants sprouted from the land everywhere she stepped. She left a meandering trail through the forest, spreading faster as she began to sprint. Tears sparkled in her wake, and her sobs were such great contrast to the cheerful songs of her sisters.

*

_SPRING, 6008_

Jeimos spent the day riding through Woodborne on their horse, tracking down all the refugees from Drifter’s Hollow to announce a meeting in the slums. By sundown, they were all gathered in the same alleyway they started in when they arrived in the city.

Evan looked around at the murmuring crowd before him. “Is everyone here?” he called. He saw all eleven of his crewmen. He saw the market tenders, Gwyneth and Brogan. Ginger and her family were present, as well as Frederick and Olof, and of course Philippa was hard to miss. He spotted Dr. Che and Tojum, the gorgon glassmaker, the old bartender, and a dozen others from the Hollow whose names he could not recall.

After a couple thorough head counts, the meeting began. Evan cleared his throat and announced, “Good evening, everyone. As you may have heard, we are here to discuss our next move regarding the Hollow situation. My crew and I have been diligently saving money and materials over these last few months, and we intend to take these things back to the Hollow and use them to rebuild. Now, the rainy season is still upon us, so we will not be making this move until late spring…”

His gaze drifted through the silent crowd. “…But when we do, we want to make sure no one is left behind. I suggest you all begin making preparations now so you’ll be ready when the time comes.”

Chatter swelled up among them. A faun villager raised his hand and said, “Mr. Atlas, not all of us can just pack up and leave! My wife only joined the Folkvar military last month. She must serve for the next five years to get our citizenship.”

“Yes, and who says going back is a good idea anyway?” added the glassmaker. “What do we have to go back to? Nothing! The Hollow is just a barren graveyard! Why rebuild when we’re already here, in a place that is already civilized?”

Evan looked at the faun man and said, “Sir, I ask why you’re willing to go through so much trouble and put your family at such risk, when you can simply return home and answer to no kings.” He turned to the glassmaker. “And you, ma’am, I understand your concern. But just because the Hollow is barren now doesn’t mean it has to stay that way. If we just put a little work into it, we can make it even better than before.”

“You say ‘a little work’,” began another villager, “but you’ve got your head in the clouds if you think rebuilding that shit-hole won’t take years of back-breaking labor! It’s going to be miserable, especially for an old man like me! I’d rather stay in these slums forever than strain myself doing something so pointless. It’s a lost cause!”

Yet another villager added, “Not to mention, that crazy man in the mask could come back any time! The Hollow isn’t safe! It has no kingdom, no military, nothing but your sellsword crew! And did you defend our home? No! It’s lying in pieces while we all rummage through trash in the kingdom next door!”

Glenvar pointed his finger at her and yelled, “Hey, hey! Watch yer mouth, ya hag! We _lost_ folks tryin’ to defend ya boneless teat-sucklers from that monster, so don’t ya even start!”

The crowd burst out into loud chatter. Evan tried to calm them, but the arguments raged over his voice. No one was more shrill than Gwyneth, however. She silenced everyone when she let out a sharp whistle and crowed, “Alright! Listen up, you hicks!”

She stepped up to Evan, turned around to face her fellow villagers and continued, “My market was the backbone of Drifter’s Hollow. I turned that place from a wild stretch of road into a real town, where traders and travelers actually bothered to stop and spend their gold. Without me, the inn would have never existed. Without the inn, the tavern wouldn’t have been there either. Without the tavern, half of you lushes would’ve never settled there in the first place, and I know damn well that’s why you’re not going back now!”

She planted her hands on her hips, regarding everyone before her with a sharp glare. Her tone was equally sharp as she went on, “You can all stay here and gag on King Folkvar’s knob, that’s fine by me. Just remember that you’re leaving the last free land on Noalen behind! I can’t start a market here without a citizenship, and neither can you! You, glassmaker, whatever your name is…” She pointed to the gorgon. “What’s your plan, huh? You’re gonna remarry? Bag yourself a big, strong Folkvaran and watch them die in the war? Because that’s the only way you’re getting that citizenship, and the only way you’ll ever make glass again!”

Gwyneth clapped a hand on Evan’s arm. “I’m going back to Drifter’s Hollow,” she continued. “It may be a backwater shit-hole, but it’s _our_ backwater shit-hole. We all made it what it was, and shame on your for abandoning it like this! While you’re over here slumming around in Folkvar’s gutters and dying in its wars, these sellswords and I will be building our own castles in our own kingdom. The more hands we have, the faster we can build. And if your hands didn’t build it, then as far as I’m concerned, it’s not yours! If I don’t see you at the Hollow come late spring, you won’t be welcome back. Stay here and rot for all I care!”

With that, the elfenne turned on her heel and stormed away. She snatched Brogan’s horn as she passed, dragging him along with her down the road.

Evan cleared his throat and said, “Well, er…I think that concludes this meeting for now. We will meet again in a week and see how everyone’s feeling. There’s still plenty of time to think this over.”

The crowd then dispersed, heading back to the different corners of Woodborne they were calling home, or at least taking shelter. Evan and Lukas walked together towards the inn they had been sharing recently. Along the way, Lukas said, “Those people raised some good points, you know…”

“Ugh, don’t start with this again…” groaned Evan. “We’ve already had this discussion. We’re going back home and that’s final.”

“Just saying,” Lukas continued. “I mean, we already get our mail in Woodborne. What if we did relocate here?”

“I am not living out of an inn for the rest of my life, Lukas.”

“You wouldn’t have to! We could all join the military for a few years, get our citizenship and buy some land outside the city. Wouldn’t be any more dangerous than what we already do.”

Evan shook his head, wearing a sour look on his face. Lukas added, “Think about it. If we did live under Folkvaran rule, we’d have the whole red military behind us. And when Disgrace inevitably fucks with us again, he’d have to contend with a lot more than a few mercs. I feel like you’re ignoring the real issue here, which is security. _Safety_ , Evan.”

He nudged the captain’s shoulder. “Disgrace underestimated us before, but I doubt he’ll do it twice. He’ll show up with a even bigger army, and there’s no way on Gaia we’ll be ready for him by then. He fell last autumn, right? That means we’ll have just two seasons before he rises from the grave. Not even that—a season and a half!”

“I’m very aware of that,” Evan replied sharply. “But we have a big advantage here: we know he’s coming.”

“So what? What are we going to do, throw rocks at him? There’s no way we’ll have walls by then! No gates, no defenses, nothing!”

“We don’t need any of that. I think you forget, we have an Aquarian sorcerer on the crew who could raze all of Woodborne if he felt so inclined. And with the forest already burned down, he won’t have to divert his power to the weather. We will have little to defend this time, so we’ll meet Disgrace with a fully offensive assault, and we’ll do it as a team. Isaac has the Divine Executioner. We’re all fitted with new military-grade armor. We can’t fail.”

“You say that, but we already fucked it up once,” muttered Lukas. The two entered the inn and climbed the staircase to the second floor.

Once they entered their little room, Evan replied, “Look. Back in Aldfog, I told Zeffer the location of the Hollow. I promised I would be there, and I intend to keep that promise.”

Lukas paused half-way between taking off his coat. He whipped his head towards Evan, eyes rounded, and threw the garment to the floor. “Zeffer?” he blurted. “ _That’s_ what this is about? Are you telling me you’re willing to risk the safety of our entire crew just for that blood-sucking prick? Damn it, Evan, forget him! He abandoned you like a dog!”

“It’s not just about him!” growled Evan. He sat on the edge of his bed, one of two small cots against the back wall. “He threw himself into a fool’s quest, so I doubt he’ll ever show up anyway. No, this is about standing your ground. I’ve been all over Gaia’s green body, and Drifter’s Hollow is the only place that’s ever truly felt like home to me. It’s _our_ home. It’s where we belong. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather die where I belong than live where I don’t.”

He looked back up at Lukas and added, “I know I’m not alone in this. I’ve discussed this with the rest of the crew at length, and you are the only one who keeps pushing back. Everyone else is chomping at the bit to get out of here. What’s got you so attached to this place?”

“I’m not _attached_ to Woodborne,” insisted Lukas. “I hate it here, you can trust that! Forgive me for trying to stay rational when everyone else is losing their minds about _home_ this, _revenge_ that…”

“I think our decision to return is plenty rational,” said Evan, pulling off his boots. He tapped the side of his head. “You’re doing it again, Lukas. You’re thinking too much. Once again, you’ve managed to convince yourself that the worst possible outcome is the only outcome, and nothing good can possibly happen.”

Lukas kicked his coat across the floor and shouted, “I don’t want to lose you, you dumb fucking oaf! I don’t want to lose any of you! We made it out of that attack by the skin our teeth! We’ve been living on borrowed time for years, and maybe I’m tired of it! Maybe I’m thinking this chapter should end, that maybe this line of work is shit, and maybe it’s time to put away the weapons and live a normal life!”

Evan jumped a little, stunned by his words. “You’re…afraid,” he deduced.

Lukas was visibly exhausted, nearly in tears when he answered, “Yes! God damn it, yes, I’m afraid! I admit it!” He kicked his shoes off and collapsed on the bed next to Evan’s. Rolling onto his back, he asked, “Don’t you ever think about the future? Do you really imagine yourself still doing this ten, twenty years from now?”

Evan paused for a brief moment, then shrugged and said, “I don’t think much about tomorrow because I always assume I’ll be dead by then.”

“Exactly! But it doesn’t have to be like that. We spent all this time saving up money to rebuild the Hollow, when we could just use it to start a new life. We’d work normal jobs in a normal kingdom. Worry about normal things like paying taxes and what’s for dinner, rather than wondering when an angry divine is going to show up and destroy everything we love.”

A silence passed between them as Evan considered his words. Then he replied, “If I lived a life like that, I would have nothing to lose. What I love is the life I have now. I love you, and the crew, and our home in the Hollow. I suppose we could all retire from this and do other things, but then we’d have to go our separate ways. It isn’t worth it to me.”

He gestured to Lukas. “ _This_ is my family.” Then to himself. “ _This_ is my life. I found you, I chose your company, I built this all for myself, and I’ll be damned before I let this beast-headed son of a bitch take it from me! I will fight for you and I will die for you if it comes down to it, but I’ll die a happy man. You can flee if that’s really what you want. You’re clearly not interested in having a life with me, so I don’t see what’s keeping you here anyway. I’m done trying to stop you, and I’m done discussing this. Good night.”

Evan leaned over and blew out the candle on his night table, cloaking the room in darkness.

*

The next morning, the refugees returned to their new lives as usual.

Olof and Frederick headed to the docks, where many great ships awaited. They had both secured jobs offloading cargo, and though it was against Folkvaran law to hire a child under sixteen years of age like Frederick, it was also illegal to hire undocumented adults like Olof. Their new employer was clearly not concerned about such things, and agreed to pay them a small wage under the table for their work.

Their daily earnings were a pittance, but certainly better than begging or digging for scraps in the trash as they had been doing before. The two centaurs showed up for their seventh day of work in a row early that morning. The air was brisk, the sky was blue, and the waters were calm. Their foreman pointed all of his workers to a cargo ship. It was a creaky, wooden behemoth that groaned like a beast with every shift on the waves.

Olof and Frederick made their way across one of the precarious planks stretching from the docks to the boat. They did this numerous times, walking up with nothing and walking back down with heavy crates. They worked alongside other heavyweight peoples like trolls, ogres, and the odd roshava, all feverishly offloading the cargo while their human foreman shouted orders from the deck.

Olof stooped low to lift another crate. He curled his wrist-stump under the bottom corner and pulled it against his chest, struggling with only one hand. He noticed Frederick not far away. Much of the young centaur’s fat had given way to muscle over the last few weeks. Olof watched, eyes rounding in surprise when he lifted a large crate all the way onto his shoulder. His twin hearts swelled with pride.

“Good job, my son. You are getting stronger every day!” he praised. Frederick regarded him with a big, cheeky smile and trotted back down the ramp to the docks. Olof followed close behind, each step slow and deliberate. The plank wobbled beneath him ever so slightly. He focused so intensely on his hooves that he hardly noticed the crate slipping out of his grip until it was too late. Olof gasped, fumbled and swayed dangerously close to falling off the plank.

Momentum had a hold on the crate. It was going overboard, and it would surely drag Olof with it if he didn’t make a sacrifice. He pushed off of it to steady himself, then watched in despair as it made a mighty splash into the sea.

The reaction was immediate. He heard his coworkers laughing around him, then the gruff voice of his foreman shouting over the wind, “You! Butterfingers! Get over here!”

Head hanging low, Olof made the slow, plodding walk of shame back up the ramp. He stopped on the deck, where the stout dworfen foreman was already storming up to him. The foreman jabbed his finger against Olof’s equine chest and spat, “That’s the third one you’ve dropped this week! I know yer missin’ a hand ‘n all, but my sympathy ends where my wallet begins, and I can’t take no more of these big, fat losses! I’ve had enough! Yer sacked, pal!”

The line’s on Olof’s face deepened, obscured by his curtain of ashen hair. Taking a deep breath, his voice was heavy with sorrow and shame when he said, “I understand. I am very sorry for my mistakes, foreman. But please, do not let my failings reflect on my son! I humbly ask that you let him stay, whether I am here or not.”

The foreman cocked a gray eyebrow. “What—him?” He queried, tilting his head towards Frederick, hauling a crate in the distance. “Are you kiddin’ me? That kid’s a powerhouse! He’s been runnin’ circles around my best guys all week! Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ him go. Yer lucky he’s such a good worker or else I’d sell him to Kelvingyard to pay fer yer damages!” He poked Olof in the chest again. “As for you, I want ya to get outta here and don’t ever touch my payload again, ya hear me? Git!”

He thrusted his finger towards the docks, and Olof promptly turned around and headed back down the ramp. He winced when the foreman called after him, “And if ya think yer gettin’ paid fer today, you can ferget it!”

Olof decided not to argue. This was hardly the first job he’d lost since arriving in Woodborne. He waited on the dock until Frederick passed by, carrying a big crate. He set it down, then approached his father and said sheepishly, “You got fired again, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Olof sighed. He reached out and rustled his son’s hair. “But it will be okay. The foreman says you are his best worker and he will not let you go. The problem is only me.”

“I’m his best worker? Really?” Frederick’s blue eyes seemed to light up.

A doleful smile crossed Olof’s face. He replied, “That’s what he said. I am proud of you, Frederick. I never thought I would be able to say that, but you have grown so much in such a short time. I—”

The foreman barked from the deck, “Hey, Butterfingers, quit tyin’ up my star hauler! Didn’t I tell you to get lost?”

Olof patted Frederick’s shoulder and said, “I must go now. I will meet you at the shelter this evening.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dad.” Frederick waved his father goodbye, then dutifully trotted back up the ramp for another load. Olof plodded down the long maze of docks, passing plenty of sailors, stray cats, and prostitutes along the way.

He reared up in fright when a dark, clawed hand grasped the planks in front of him. It reached out from the water, and soon Mr. Ocean hauled himself up on the dock before him. The cecaelia was wearing a wedding dress of all things, distinctly Folkvaran in style with its fur-lined shoulders and bell-shaped hip flairs.

“Mr. Olof, I had a feeling you would be working today,” he said. “Someone just dropped a crate full of beautiful garments in the water. Look, I managed to snatch this one before the sirenes got to it!” He gestured down at the sopping wet dress on his body.

Olof wore a bewildered look on his face, mouth hanging open slightly as if fighting a smile. “Er, Mr. Ocean…” He cleared his throat. “That is a bride’s dress. It is for women.”

“For women? Women only?” The cecaelia looked down at the dress, tugging at the wet skirt. “Ah, my mistake. I hope I am not breaking any laws. I don’t often wear clothes, you see. All this fashion nonsense is a bit beyond me.”

Olof stifled a chuckle. “No, you are not breaking the law. It’s just that…well, people may laugh at you.”

“Oh.” Mr. Ocean paused, then decided, “People already laugh at me for eating from the trash, so I suppose it makes no difference.”

The centaur’s smile quickly faded. “I just lost my job again today, so it looks like I will be joining you.”

Mr. Ocean opened his mouth to offer words of comfort, but he was interrupted by a voice from the distance. A group of sailors was sitting near a Folkvaran war ship at the end of the dock. One of them let out a rude whistle and called, “Lookin’ cute over there, princess muckworm!”

His fellow sailors joined him in sloppy laughter, clinking their ale bottles together with glee. Mr. Ocean turned to Olof and mumbled, “Hm, you were right. The laughter has already begun.”

“When’s the wedding, boys? Kiss, kiss!” another sailor added. The others cheered and whistled around him.

Olof’s first instinct was to hang his head and walk away. He took but two steps before he remembered his vow to his people: that he would be a coward no longer, that he would not allow his loved ones to be treated with disrespect.

He balled his fists, glaring right at the sailors when he bellowed, “It will be right after your funeral if you keep talking, friend!”

Their laugher died down to murmurs and nervous chuckles. The first sailor raised his hands and told him, “Woah, woah! Calm down, big guy! It was only a joke, we didn’t mean nothin’ by it!”

They fell quiet after that, talking amongst themselves. Mr. Olof brows shot up when he turned back to the centaur. “That was an unexpected—yet very impressive—display of dominance, Mr. Olof. Well done,” he praised.

Swiping at his neck, Olof replied, “Um, thank you. I am still getting the hang of it.”

Mr. Ocean offered his arm and asked, “Would you like to rummage through trash with me today?”

“It would be my pleasure. You may wear your dress, you may eat your trash, and I will not allow you to be mocked for it,” said Olof. He and the cecaelia walked together down the dock, arm-in-arm towards the city.

*

Ginger carried Cinnamon in her arms, with Itchy and Tomato closely in tow. Together they made their way to the Woodborne slums around high sun, passing row after row of dilapidated shacks. Each one was built from scavenged materials, boards and bricks and metal sheets. They could hardly tell one from another, but they knew Itchy’s mother’s shack by the colorful flowers she had painted all over her door.

“I don’t wanna go to Gramma’s house. It’s too small and it smells weird,” complained Tomato.

Ginger tapped him on the head and said, “That’s not nice, Tomato. I want you to be on your best behavior today.”

“Can I get a toy if I’m good?” the boy gasped, eyes wide and hopeful.

Ginger hesitated. “Well…”

“Please?”

“We’ll see.”

“That always means no…” Tomato grumbled.

They meandered through the maze of narrow, muddy roads until they arrived at the shack. Itchy knocked upon his mother’s flowery door and it opened immediately, as if she’d been waiting behind it the whole time. She was not wearing her usual bar wench garb, but a more modest patchwork dress instead.

A big smile spread across the old woman’s face. She trapped her son in a tight hug and greeted, “Oh, good, you made it in one piece! Hello, my sweet baby!” She peppered his cheeks with kisses, then stepped aside and urged the family through her doorway.

“It’s good to see you again, Calamity. The kids just love to visit,” Ginger told her, offering a polite smile.

“And I just love to have them!” Calamity laughed, stooping lower to tickle the baby in Ginger’s arms. “Hello again, you little munchkin! Do you remember Gramma? Give her here, Ginger, so she can smell my perfume!”

Reluctantly, Ginger handed Cinnamon over. “Be careful, she’s a little squirmy,” she warned, then gasped when Calamity snatched the baby and playfully tossed her in the air. “Ms. Calamity, please--!”

“Wheee! Listen to her, she laughs just like her papa!” said Calamity, tossing the baby up and down. Cinnamon squealed with glee while her mother trembled with fear.

“Ba-Ba—” Itchy began, but it was too late. Cinnamon thumped her head against the metal ceiling with a cloud clang. Ginger gasped as Tomato burst into laughter.

“Aww, don’t freak out. She’s just fine,” Calamity assured them, rustling the baby’s curly hair. Cinnamon seemed nonplussed. “Her papa fell head-first onto a rock when he was her age and he turned out just fine! We satyrs are tough, even our babes!”

Itchy’s ears drooped. “I what…?”

“Oh, before I forget,” began Calamity, passing Cinnamon back to her mother. She opened a trunk at the back of the room and pulled out a burlap sack. From the sack she retrieved a plush sheep, which she handed to Cinnamon, and a wooden soldier, which she gave to Tomato. “I got these for you kids! Gramma’s always thinkin’ of you wherever she goes.” She planted a kiss on each of their foreheads.

“Woah, this is great! Thanks, Gramma!” exclaimed Tomato, turning the soldier over in his hands. It was about as long as his forearm, each hand-painted joint articulated with springs. The figurine was outfitted with metal plates and a red cloth cape, resembling a high-ranking Folkvaran soldier.

Cinnamon babbled over her sheep, happily chewing on its ear. It was nearly as big as she was, its body made of real sheep’s wool with a red silk ribbon around its neck, where a little brass bell was attached.

“Calamity, my goodness! You really shouldn’t have! Those toys look very expensive…” said Ginger.

The old satyress slapped the air and laughed, “Nah, don’t worry yourself! I didn’t pay a coin for ‘em.” She punctuated herself with a wink, then turned and began fussing with the dishes on the table. The table was really a crate with a tattered sheet draped over it. Surrounding it were two mismatched chairs and a smaller crate for sitting.

“You folks just have a seat. I’ll have lunch ready in a second,” she said. Ginger passed Cinnamon to Itchy, then pulled Tomato into her lap, saving the last chair for Calamity. Calamity retrieved a metal pan from the shelf, setting it in the center of the table. She opened the lid and steam billowed out. With a pair of tongs, she pulled out oddly-shaped nuggets and put them on each plate. From a second pan, she scooped out spoonfuls of fried rice, then topped each serving with a sprinkling of spices.

“This smells wonderful,” Ginger remarked. She picked up a nugget and pulled it apart, inspecting the meat inside before taking a bite. Over a full mouth, she added, “It’s delicious too! What is this, exactly?”

Calamity sat down and told her, “Fried mice with fried rice! Nothin’ special, but I add a secret spice blend to make it my own.” She picked up a half-empty bottle of liquor and began pouring it in a glass. “Ya wanna drink?”

“Er, water is fine for me,” said Ginger, pouring herself a glass from a pitcher of water. Calamity turned the bottle towards Itchy. The satyr hesitated, eyes shifting to Ginger. She glanced back at him and pretended to shake her bangs out of her face, but Itchy knew she was really shaking her head ‘no’.

Itchy told his mother, “Yeah, water for me too.”

“Really?” Calamity’s brows arched. “Come on now, it’s a special occasion! Won’t ya have just one?”

“We better not,” said Ginger. “You see, Itchy is…well, he—”

“I got bad bowels,” interrupted Itchy. “Hernias, ulcers, parasites, you name it. My gut’s a mess! If I add alcohol to the mix, woah, look out!” He poured himself a glass of water and quickly chugged it down. His mother didn’t yet know about his alcoholic tendencies, and he intended to keep it that way. He much preferred if she thought him a successful man who fell on hard times rather than a chronic failure.

Calamity shrugged. “Suit yourself. More for me,” she said, and sucked the entire glass of liquor down in a second. She slammed the glass on the table and exclaimed, “Whoo!” then let out a loud belch. Tomato giggled over a spoonful of rice. “So, Mrs. Ginger,” began Calamity, “My son tells me you can read. Is that really true, or was he pullin’ my leg?”

Ginger quickly chewed her next bite, swallowing it before she answered, “Yes, I can read, and write as well. My mother taught me when I was just a little kid. She came into some money, I guess, and she used it to go to school in Stonebirch.”

“School, huh? I’m surprised they let her in,” said Calamity, pouring herself another drink. “Folkvarans treat us like animals. Actually, they treat us worse than animals, ‘cause they’ll feed a stray dog before they share a scrap with us! I take it it’s better further up north?”

Ginger sighed, “Not by much. There’s less sailors and riff-raff in Stonebirch, but it’s still no place for a satyr. I left as soon as I realized I was pregnant. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone treating Tomato as badly as they treated me.” She patted her son’s red head. “Drifter’s Hollow really was a gem. I so wish you could have visited before it burned down.”

“Hey, that reminds me!” blurted Itchy. He turned to his mother and continued, “Captain Fat-Lass was talkin’ about going back in late spring. He’s gonna get all his mercenary buddies together to rebuild the Hollow. You should come with us, Ba-Ba! Get yourself outta this dump, it doesn’t deserve ya!”

Calamity cocked her head. Her glass froze half-way to her lips. She lowered it and replied, “Trust me, I’d love to! I hate this place as much as any sane person! It’s just…” She took a quick sip from her glass. “…I’m so _old_ , little flea, and I ain’t never lived in the forest for more than a couple days at a time. Always bounced between the nymphs and the peoples, always been a slave to gold. Always camped, never survived, y’know? I couldn’t make it out there.”

“Old?” Itchy laughed. “You ain’t even two decades passed me! It’s not like we’d let ya starve out there. We’d take care of you ‘til you got the hang of it. Right, Ginj?”

Ginger hesitated. “Um, sure, of course,” she said, offering a strained smile.

Calamity wore a similar smile when she sighed, “I don’t know, kids. Once you had me with you, you’d be beggin’ to send me back. Ain’t much to do out there anyway, huh? I get bored, I get restless.”

“There’s plenty to do, so long as you take joy in your work,” said Ginger. “Everything we do out there is work, but it never really feels like it because we’re working for ourselves. We don’t harvest food for a store, it goes straight into our pantry. I think that’s what I miss most.”

Calamity fell silent for a moment, tapping her fingers against her lips. She seemed to be considering it. Her next question came out sheepish and reluctant. “Probably ain’t no taverns out there, huh?” she asked.

Ginger and Itchy glanced at one another. Itchy answered, “Not yet. Probably won’t be for a while. There used to be an inn and tavern, and a market run by the snottiest elf you’ve ever met! Innkeeper died in the fire, but that hob says she’s gonna start her market up again soon. Why couldn’t it be the other way around?”

Calamity’s reluctant smile remained. “I see,” she said. “Tell ya what: I’m gonna stay in Woodborne for a while and try ‘n save up some money. Let me know when that place is poppin’ again and I might come down for a visit. If I like it, who knows? Maybe it’ll be a one-way trip!” She sucked down the rest of her glass and slammed it on the table.

*

_LATE SPRING, 6008_

The refugees were gathered and the carts were loaded. The forecast was clear, morale was high, and finally, the caravan was rolling back towards Drifter’s Hollow.

A handful of villagers did not wish to return. They were left behind in Woodborne while the rest followed the Freelance Good Guys, believing whole-heartedly in Evan’s plan to rebuild. Those who didn’t believe at least hoped, for they had nothing more to lose.

They travelled down Refuge Road from sunup to sundown, and another day of travel still lie ahead. The caravan stopped at the top of a hill and they started a large bonfire. It casted an orange glow upon all their faces as they huddled around it for warmth in the darkness. They pitched what few tents they had and shared them between as many people as they could fit inside.

Ginger and her family squeezed themselves into one tent, built from scavenged poles and patchwork materials. Tomato lay over top of his mother, exhausted from the trip and already fast asleep. Itchy lay on his back with Cinnamon curled up on his belly. “Maybe I should hold the baby,” whispered Ginger. “What if you roll over on her?”

“Ain’t no room to roll over, lassie…” mumbled Itchy.

In the smaller tent just beside them, Dr. Che and Tojum were locked in a fierce battle for floorspace. “Ye kicks Tojum with yer pointy goat-feets!” complained Tojum, kicking the satyr back.

“And you are breathing in my face!” Dr. Che complained back. “Is not sanitary! Spreads germs!”

The kobold recoiled in offense. “Are ye sayings Tojum breath stinks?”

“All of you stinks! Your teeth are very bad, full of much rot!” argued Dr. Che. “You must sleep with mouth closed, keep germs to yourself! You should have washed your dirty feet before you came in here, and you are sweating on everything!” He tugged his sheet out from under her, making a face at the dampness she left behind.

“Oh, so Tojum just big, dirty, stink-pig, huh? You not knows what ye talks about! Tojum shows ya stinky!” With that, the kobold lifted her leg and Dr. Che staggered out of the tent just a few seconds later, coughing and gagging. Tojum cackled away, “Ha! Now stinky Tojum gets whole tent to self!”

The satyr rattled with a full-body shudder. He looked around the campsite at all the tents, wondering who may have had space to spare. He noticed Philippa lying in the grass by the dying fire, looking quite content as she reclined her humanoid body over her rucksack like a pillow.

Dr. Che approached her and said, “Ms. Philippa, it is dangerous to sleep outside. There are wild animals out here!”

The centaur chuckled, “I don’t have much choice, Doc. There’s no tent in this world big enough to contain me. No stomach big enough to contain me either. Besides, look at the stars. Aren’t they beautiful?” She pointed up at the sky, where white stars twinkled against the black void. “Beats staring at old leather any day, don’t you think?”

Dr. Che planted his hands on his hips, staring upwards for a long moment. “Hmm, you are right,” he said, stroking his beard. “I have not seen the stars in long time! Always busy looking at wounds and medicines, then close my eyes to sleep. I like them very much. May I sleep with you here, Ms. Philippa?”

The centaur smiled, patting the ground beside her. “I’ll keep you warm, handsome. No weird stuff, I promise,” she jested. Dr. Che flopped on his back in the grass, tucking his hands behind his head. He filled his lungs with fresh, clean air and exhaled with satisfaction.

The mercenaries had placed their tents a bit further up the hill from the rest of the refugees, giving them a better vantage point to spot danger. “I’ll keep watch tonight. You all get some rest,” offered Lukas, pulling a pot of coffee away from the small fire. He poured himself a cup and sat on a rock at the edge of the hill.

Evan followed him and asked, “Are you sure? We can all just take shifts.”

Lukas shrugged. “It’s not like I sleep anyway. Besides, that tent is…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “…pretty cramped. You’ll be more comfortable without me.”

His insinuation hit Evan like a punch to the gut. “That’s not true at all. I’d be far more comfortable _with_ you,” Evan told him. “But…I understand. It’s probably for the best.”

Just as he turned to leave, Lukas sipped his coffee and said, “Good night, Captain.”

Evan stopped only briefly, shooting him a quick glance. He said nothing, only offered a half-hearted wave that Lukas didn’t see anyway, and disappeared into his tent alone. Though there were two bedrolls to sprawl across, he curled himself onto just one. Just in case someone changed their mind, he thought.

He tossed and turned for some time, kept awake by every cricket chirp and gust of wind through the trees. Then he noticed voices whispering nearby. Evan’s lycanthrope ears twitched. He heard Alaine’s distinct giggling and Glenvar murmuring something lewd. The giggling soon escalated to gasps and moans, and Evan had no patience for it in his lonely, bitter state of mind.

Scrambling out of his tent, he slapped the canvas wall of the one beside it and growled, “Can you two at least _pretend_ to be professional? Knock it off in there! I won’t have this nonsense on my crew!”

The giggling ceased immediately. Alaine burst out of the tent, still buttoning her gown. “Are you serious? You never cared before! What’s your problem now?” she snapped.

“You know we have rules about inter-crew relations,” argued Evan.

Glenvar stumbled out of the tent just then, pulling on his pants. “Aw, c’mon, Chief! Nobody takes those rules seriously ‘n ya know it!” he slurred, having clearly indulged in a few drinks.

Alaine poked Evan in the chest and said, “And I guess you’re the special exception to those rules, huh?”

Evan stepped back, face flushing pink. “What? I-I have no idea what you’re talking about!” he stammered breathlessly.

Rolling her eyes, Alaine dug in further, “Come on, Atty. We all know you and Luke still have a thing going on. We’re not idiots!”

Evan almost laughed. “Oh, I assure you, we most certainly do _not_. And even if we did, we were together long before those rules were in place.”

“And that somehow makes it okay?” queried Alaine. “I don’t remember seeing that little addendum in the rule book! Or did you just pull it out of your ass?”

Evan inhaled to argue back, but froze when he saw a tentacle squirm out of the tent. Mr. Ocean soon followed, He regarded his captain with several mumbled apologies before slinking away into the night. Slapping a hand over his face, Evan groaned, “By the gods…” and turned back to his own tent. “Nevermind. I give up. Do whatever you want, you degenerates,” he sighed, then disappeared inside.

*

Coming home did not feel the same. Viewing the Hollow from Refuge Road, it looked as if a giant trowel had scooped up a chunk of the Forest of Refuge and tossed it away. But the caravan was not greeted by the stark ashscape that lie there before. Rather, what lie ahead was a lush, green field of tall grasses, baby conifers, and colorful spring flowers.

The black trunks had been overtaken by vibrant green vines, the ash covered by a blanket of grass. All traces of the fire were concealed under native plants. The refugees looked ahead in awe. The ash and the rainy season must have given birth to new life, they thought, but they never believed it could happen so fast.

As they approached the border to the Hollow, they saw the great rock upon which they left their message to survivors. “GONE TO WOODBORNE –FGG” was carved into its surface before, but now the message was completely covered by moss.

The dirt road through the village had also given way to soft moss, with tall grasses growing on either side. The caravan slowly maneuvered its way through the new-old territory, refugees looking around in various states of awe and distress.

The main plaza was unrecognizable. Only faint glimpses of ruins could be seen below green growth. A moose doe and her calf were standing right where the inn once towered, eating from a bush. The doe picked its head up when the caravan passed, then loped away with its calf into the thicket surrounding the field.

The grass rustled with activity. A snake slithered across the mossy path in front of the refugees, shortly followed by a fox. Birds twittered their spring songs as they hopped about in the bushes. The main plaza of Drifter’s Hollow, which once bustled with travelers, soldiers, and migrating Serkelites, had been swiftly reclaimed by nature in their absence.

The caravan did not get much further before someone blocked their path. A limniad rose up from the tall grass, pale green of flesh with tulips in her yellow hair. She stepped onto the road and faced the refugees, her hands glowing with magic.

“Come no closer,” she said sharply. “Turn back now. There is no place for you here.”

Anxious murmurs spread over the caravan. Evan motioned for them to stay back as he approached the limniad. She held her ground and raised her hands threateningly, but he only raised his empty palms in return to show he meant no harm. He was armored in iron plates with a shield on his arm and a sword at his hip.

“It’s alright, ma’am,” he began. “I understand you’re frightened, but we mean you no harm. We were forced to leave this place last autumn when the fires came through. We’re just returning to reclaim what is ours.”

The limniad’s face scrunched with anger. She said, “I know who you are, Captain, and this land never belonged to you. It belongs to our Mother. You settled upon it, you destroyed it, and we rejoiced when you disappeared.” Her green eyes scanned over the rest of the caravan. “Letting you people settle here was a mistake. I was happier when I thought you were dead. Now, turn around. Go back to wherever you came from and never return, or else you will not be leaving alive.”

Evan’s expression hardened, the murmurs behind him growing more frantic. Just then, several more limniads rose up from the grass. They glared at the refugees, armed with thorny sticks, heavy stones, whips of braided grass, and long wooden staffs.

Their cold welcome left Evan dumbfounded. He expected a few obstacles upon their return, but certainly not this. He told the nymphs, “There’s no need for violence. Put your weapons down and let’s settle this peacefully.”

“The time for peace is over!” cried another nymph. “What you have done to our Mother is unforgivable!”

Another shouted, “You raped this land and left it to die! No peoples shall touch Her again!” and then she lobbed a heavy stone towards Evan.

The captain blocked it with his shield as his crew sprung into a defensive formation around the villagers. The other nymphs began to whoop and shout, slowly closing in. The mercenaries raised their shields to protect eachother from the volley of stones that rained towards them, villagers shrieking with fright. Little green stalks erupted through the moss around their feet and rapidly extended into vines.

The vines wrapped around the refugees’ ankles, climbing up their legs to strangle them. The struggle lasted for only a few seconds before Jeimos stepped out from the crowd. Their hands burst into flame, and they swept them menacingly around at the cowering nymphs. Their eyes glowed bright orange, smoke billowing from their mouth when they shouted, “That’s enough! I swear, I’ll burn this whole bloody place down all over again if you don’t stop all this fighting! This is absolutely senseless! What has gotten into you crazy nymphs?”

The limniads shrank away from the elf, the flames reflecting in their fearful eyes. They began exchanging harried whispers, then some of them ran off into the thicket. The tulip-haired limniad said, “We are only guardians of the road. Perhaps you should speak with the queen.”

“Yes, let us speak with a real authority,” Evan said flatly. He tugged his foot out of the vines’ grasp, ripping them from the soil. The refugees disentangled themselves from the other vines as the limniads fetched their so-called queen. Drifter’s Hollow never had a queen in the past, as far as they knew. It never had an official leader at all.

Gwyneth was always regarded as the authority on economic affairs, Evan the authority on security, and of course Flora was the authority on all things environmental. These authorities were all unspoken, but obvious to all who spent any significant time in the village.

Before long, the group of limniads returned. There was one more among them, a familiar face that the villagers nearly didn’t recognize. But she recognized them, and she gasped when she laid eyes upon them, stopping in her tracks. She slapped her green hands over her lips, knees quivering in sudden weakness.

Tears began streaming down Flora’s face. They were tears of joy, and she shed them for the old friends she thought dead. The daisies that used to haphazardly pepper her hair were now growing in a lush crown around her head. The villagers were used to seeing her bare, but now she was clad in an intricate gown woven from grasses, leaves, and daisies.

She stood out from her bared sisters, and there was no doubt in the villagers’ mind that she had become their queen.

“Flora!” they all cried in unison. The queen nymph bolted towards them with arms outstretched, jumping right into Evan’s arms. The captain affectionately rocked her back and forth.

“Flora, my god! We thought you were killed in the fire!” he exclaimed.

“I thought the same of you! All of you!” Flora sniffled. She jumped out of his arms and rushed around the caravan. She hugged and kissed the villagers, touched their faces, held their hands, as if she did not believe they were real.

Her tulip-haired sister spoke out, “Queen Flora, why do you welcome them? They are the ones who started that fire in the first place!”

“Shut yer mouth! That ain’t true!” barked Glenvar.

“Why would we set our own home on fire? That doesn’t even make sense!” added Linde.

Another nymph pointed an accusatory finger at them and shouted, “It was _something_ you did, on purpose or not! Ever since you settled here, you’ve brought nothing but trouble!”

“They lured monsters here from foreign lands!” cried another limniad.

Yet another added, “They take, take, take from Gaia and give nothing back! Typical commoners! Please, Queen Flora, do not allow them to disrespect our Mother anymore!”

Flora stood between her sisters and the villagers, listening to them launch arguments back and forth. The arguments faded into shouts and then became nothing but vocal chaos. A few stones were thrown from the limniads, a few arrows fired back from the mercenaries. The battle didn’t last long before Flora raised her hands and put an end to it.

“Stop this!” she cried. The chaos died down to a murmur. She turned to her sisters and continued, “Sisters, you treat these people as if they are some kind of invasive pest. But they, too, are Mother Gaia’s children just as we are! Many of them were even born here, so what right do we have to send them away?”

“What right do they have to destroy Gaia’s body the way that they do?” argued the tulip-haired nymph.

“They are not like us. They need shelter, food, and fire to survive,” Flora told her. “Gaia is the one who made them that way, so it is their right to take from her as much as they need! These people have always been as respectful as their natures will allow. Do you see lavish monuments of gold or towers that touch the sky?”

She turned all around, gesturing to the open field. “No, because I have never allowed them to take more than they need! I am ashamed to see you treat our friends so savagely!”

“They are no friends of mine! I want them to go away for good!” shouted one nymph. A roar of agreements swelled up around her.

“Things have been so much quieter since they’ve been gone!” said another.

“Look at the Hollow, it’s healthier and more beautiful than ever!” added a third.

Some of the refugees lost their tempers and shouted foul remarks. The nymphs shouted right back, and chaos broke out once again. Flora spread her arms and shielded the caravan from the volley of stones thrown their way. Her sisters ceased their attack, only to boo at her.

“Queen Flora, how could you?”

“Filthy traitor! Always knew you were an iron-sucker!”

“You are not my queen!” they cried.

One of them lobbed a stone right at Flora’s head. She flinched, but Evan reacted in a flash, blocking it with his shield. Jeimos willed flames to their hands again and shrieked, “So help me, if you don’t cease this bickering…!”

“Stand down, Jeimos!” ordered Evan. The elf cocked an eyebrow at him, and reluctantly, they did as they were told. The flames faded into two streams of smoke. Facing the nymphs, Evan continued, “Listen to me. I know my crew is not perfect. I know that perhaps we take more from the land than we should. And believe me, I’m very aware that wherever we go, trouble tends to follow. No, we did not start that fire. But we will accept full responsibility for it, because the man that did start it was an old enemy of ours. He had no qualms with you or Gaia. He destroyed this place out of pure contempt for my crew and I, all because we have something of his…”

He placed a hand on Isaac’s back, pushing him forth. The young mercenary held his golden scythe in a white-knuckled grip, eyeing the nymphs warily. “The man who destroyed the Hollow was actually no man at all,” Evan went on. “He was a divine, and he’s due for resurrection come this autumn. I can’t say exactly when he’ll return, but I guarantee he’ll show up with a vengeance.”

Sweeping a hand towards Isaac’s scythe, he continued, “This scythe is the only thing that can put that divine down for good, and Isaac here is the only one who knows how to wield it properly. Whether we’re here or not, that monster will surely come rampaging through the Hollow looking for us. Banish us now and you won’t live to regret it later.”

The nymphs turned all around, muttering amongst themselves. The tulip-haired limniad hissed, “He lies! Do not let them worm their way back in with sneaky untruths!”

“He is not lying!” Flora growled back, stamping her bare foot on the moss. “If you spent even a little time with these people, you’d know that everything he’s saying is the truth! They’ve been speaking of this horrid divine for years! I’ve heard the tales of their conquests and seen their bounties to prove it!”

Jeimos stepped forward, nearly breathless with anxiety when they said, “The Divine of Hate is real. He is the one who burned the Hollow, and I promise we will do everything in our power to keep it from happening again. I am fae, I cannot speak lies even if I tried. If you banish us, then you, the Hollow, and Gaia will all suffer for it.”

“We’re not here to antagonize you,” added Evan. “We’re here to make peace and ensure a better future for all of us. We’re willing to make compromises if we must, but we will not allow you or any divine to take our home from us again. What say you, ladies?”

The nymphs congregated into a tight circle on the road. Flora waited with the caravan as her sisters quietly deliberated. Several minutes passed before the tulip-haired nymph announced their decision.

“We’ve decided to let you return,” she said. “However, we will no longer tolerate your infractions as we did in the past. If you violate our conditions, there will be war.”

“And those conditions are…?” queried Evan.

The nymph told him, “For every structure you build, you must also build a shrine to the forest. Each shrine must be of equal size to the structure and act as a sanctuary for native plants. You may not destroy or in any way disturb the shrines once their first plant has taken root. If you do, my sisters and I will destroy a structure of yours. Are we in agreement?”

Evan shot a questioning look back at the refugees. They too deliberated for a moment, then Evan relayed their decision. “Alright, fair enough,” he said, extending his hand for a shake. She did not accept it right away.

Raising a finger, the nymph added, “One more thing! We will no longer tolerate industrial works in this forest, even on an individual scale. No more glassmaking or metalworking from now on. The byproducts are bad for the groundwater.”

Gwyneth called from atop one of the carts, “Lucky for you, the glassmaker joined the Folkvarmy and the blacksmith is dead! Now, what about my market?”

“The old rules shall be maintained,” the nymph told her. “No importing of plastics, toxic chemicals, or…well, _anything_ from Zareen Empire. Whatever is imported must be appropriately exported when it’s no longer wanted. We will not allow junk and foreign materials to pile up here. The ruins of your charred buildings is bad enough…”

“And what about utilities?” asked Jeimos. “May we rebuild the water wheel and continue plans for plumbing?”

The nymph paused for a moment, then answered, “No. The water wheel was disturbing the fish, and running metal pipes all through the ground is just asking for trouble. You will continue using the cesspit and exporting waste as before.”

The refugees let out a collective groan. “Damn it! So much for real toilets…” grumbled Isaac. “Evan, can’t you do something?”

Evan patted his shoulder and whispered, “Let’s pick our battles, son.” Then he cleared his throat and extended his hand to the nymph once more. “Ma’am, we find your conditions fair and reasonable. We accept.”

At last, she shook his hand and the deal was sealed.

*


	2. Menace on the Mountain

**[CHAPTER 2: MENACE ON THE MOUNTAIN]**

The caravan split apart as the refugees went to stake claims to the land. The Freelance Good Guys continued down the south road to their old compound. The mighty log wall that once surrounded it had mostly collapsed, and what few poles that stood were covered by ivy. They cut through the gap where the front gate used to be. Lukas’ treehouse and its tree were gone, but Evan’s little stone house across the street was still standing.

The barn had collapsed and the fence was barely holding on, the pasture overgrown by tall grass. The house, however, was unscathed except for the roof, part of which had caved in from the weight of a fallen tree. Ivy had been climbing its stone walls all season, covering them almost completely from the foundation to the top of the chimney.

Evan pulled the vines away from the front window and peeked inside. “Looks like the fire didn’t get in,” he observed. “Actually, it looks like no one’s been in there at all since we left.”

“They probably couldn’t find the door,” remarked Lukas, gesturing to the thick vines blocking the front door.

Evan stepped away from the window and sighed, “Well, the roof certainly needs work. I’m sure it’s been leaking all through the rainy season. There’s going to be nasty water damage, probably some mold and pests to take care of. It won’t be fit to move in for a while.”

The mercenaries continued down the road. This once familiar road felt foreign without its shade or the surrounding thicket. The afternoon sun beamed down upon it, no longer obscured by treetops. They arrived at the well plaza, and the only structure still standing was the well. The boarding house some of them called home, the dining hall where they shared meals and memories, the chicken coop that once sustained them all disappeared in the nymphs’ green overgrowth.

Not even Evan’s little office shack survived, nor did the documents inside. The captain scrubbed at his eyes, letting out a pained groan when he thought about all the important records they had lost. Contacts, work histories, mission reports, the crews’ medical files, passports, and photos—all ashes.

“The plaza might be a good place to set up camp, assuming Disgrace didn’t screw with the water,” suggested Alaine, peeking down the well.

Evan nodded and said, “Good thinking. Alaine, Glenvar, and Mr. Ocean, why don’t you go check out the lake? The rest of us will stay here and start setting up. We don’t have much time, our daylight is already waning.”

The trio of lake-dwellers split away from the group, following the overgrown road to the lake. With no trees in the way, they could now see the sparkle of its waters from the plaza. They saw that even the lake structures did not escape Disgrace’s fiery wrath.

Sections of the docks were broken, likely where heavy tree limbs had fallen on them. A flaming limb must have hit Alaine’s shack too, for the majority of its structure was black and skeletonized. The damaged stilts it rested upon looked to be one gust away from giving out.

“Where the feck is my boat? Ain’t no way that fire go to it!” exclaimed Glenvar. He ran to the edge of the shore, shielding his eyes as he looked this way and that. The dock that used to lead up to his boat was still there, though the last third of it had collapsed as if something pulled it down. The trio scanned every side of the lake, but they did not see his little red houseboat.

He turned to Alaine and Mr. Ocean, blue eyes full of hope when he asked, “Ya think it floated down the river? Maybe it got stuck down there.”

“Wait here for a second,” said Alaine, pulling off her boots. She then took a running leap off the dock and disappeared underwater for several minutes. Glenvar and Mr. Ocean waited anxiously on the shore.

Finally she surfaced, her face scaly and green. She dragged herself back onto the dock, squeezed the water out of her hair, and flashed back into her terrestrial form. Sullenly she approached Glenvar and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Glen,” she muttered.

The _Maskamar’s_ eyes rounded, struck silent for a brief moment. Then he blurted, “Are ya kiddin’ me? _How_? The only thing still standin’ in this dump is Ocean’s hovel,” he pointed to Mr. Ocean, “and it’s the flimsiest piece of shite in the village! Meanwhile my boat’s sittin’ at the bottom of Drifter’s Lake fer Gaia knows what reason! How, how, feckin’ _how_?” He pulled off his straw hat and threw it at the ground.

Alaine turned to Mr. Ocean’s tiny gazebo, sitting untouched at the end of a damaged dock. “Well,” she began, “that boat did have a lot of leaks in it…”

“What do ya mean? I was fixin’ those leaks all the time!” argued Glenvar.

Alaine replied, “That’s my point, dummy! You weren’t here to fix them for months! What did you expect to happen?”

Glenvar let out a wail of anger, stomping his hat into a pile of hay.

“You are always welcome to stay with me, my friends,” offered Mr. Ocean.

Glenvar picked up the remains of his hat and threw it at the cecaelia. “Oh, yeah! Fat lotta good that’ll do us! Yer little shack don’t even have real walls!”

“Glen, don’t be an asshole! He’s just trying to help!” scolded Alaine, giving him a shove. “You have a magic rock in your heart anyway! You can sleep in the snow buck-naked just fine, and you’re being a baby about _walls_?”

“Just ‘cause I can don’t mean it’s comfortable!” growled Glenvar. “I ain’t been comfortable in months! I miss my bed, Allie! I miss the dinin’ hall and the big table and the pantry full’a food! I just want my home back!” The anger in his voice gave way to sadness. The moment tears sparkled in his eyes, he turned around and stormed off further down the road. He disappeared behind the great trunk of a fallen tree, and his sobs carried faintly over the wind.

Alaine watched him go, scaly brows sagged in concern. “Aww…poor little guy. I’ve never seen him so upset,” she murmured. She and Mr. Ocean stood in contemplative silence for a long moment. Then, Alaine turned to the cecaelia and said, “Hey! Run down to the plaza real quick and ask the crew if we can borrow some horses. I have an idea.”

*

As the most experienced carpenter in Drifter’s Hollow, Olof was appointed foreman of the reconstruction project. Before he left Woodborne, the Freelance Good Guys pitched in to have a prosthetic made for his wrist. A metal hook lacked the finesse of fingers, but it was certainly more useful than a fleshy stump.

Olof visited each villager at their chosen plot of land. He marked the footprints of their houses with tall stakes. For each footprint he laid down, Philippa took measurements in preparation for each accompanying shrine to the forest. The location of these shrines mattered little, according to the nymphs, as long as they were within the bounds of the village.

As Olof hammered another stake into the ground, Philippa approached him with a suggestion. “Mr. Olof, I was just thinking,” she began, “these shrines must also account for fences and farms. This means half of the available land in the village cannot be built upon or used for farming.” She handed him a wrinkled scrap of paper, where she had hastily scribbled a crude drawing of a house. Flowers with smiley faces were sprouting from the rounded rooftop.

She continued, “So, hear me out: what if we built all the houses partially underground, like this? We could cover the rooftops with soil, so the native plants could grow on them. That creates a shrine of equal size to the house, just like that! It’s space that we wouldn’t have used anyway, right?”

Olof stared down at the drawing. He contemplated it for a long moment, stroking his hook against his beard. “I have never built a house that way before,” he admitted, passing the drawing back to her. “It would take a lot of time to dig the dirt out…”

“Hmm, you’re right. If only we had an expert terramancer around, huh?” Philippa winked. “Don’t worry about that. I can dig out a house faster than you can pick up a shovel.”

“This is true,” said Olof. “But we must also think about the structure. The nymphs say we cannot disturb the shrines. The roots and moisture will eventually cause damage to the wood of the roofs, and then we will be forced to repair them. This will surely disturb the plants.”

Philippa scratched at her graying head, furrowing her brow at the drawing. “Right, right…” she mumbled. Then she perked up and added, “Wait a minute. Wood may rot, but you know what doesn’t? Stone. It’ll be a little more complicated and certainly more expensive than building with wood, but the houses will last longer and, better yet, they’ll be fireproof too!”

Olof’s brows shot up, as if he was hit with some kind of epiphany. “Yes,” he said brightly, “you are right, I think that may work! The carts are already full of lumber. Perhaps we can trade it for bricks in one of the nearby cities?”

“Now there’s an idea! Then again, wood for stone? Weight for weight, we’ll be getting a _terrible_ deal. Unless…we send a good negotiator. Someone who really knows business.”

The centaurs thought over their dilemma for a moment more. Then, simultaneously, the same idea entered their heads.

“Mrs. Fallbrooke!”

*

Having finished pitching their tents in the plaza, Jeimos and Lukas decided to make their way to Jeimos’ tower. They could see it from the plaza, jutting up from a sea of fallen trees covered with new growth. But the path that led to it was blocked by those trees, forcing them to pick up their machetes and hack a new path.

It was dark by the time they arrived, sweating and panting with a long trail of chopped branches in their wake. Similar to Evan’s house, the skinny, three-story tower was made almost entirely of stone. But also like Evan’s house, the roof was made of wood, and it seemed the flames had spread to its shingles from the treetops. Jeimos climbed the exterior ladder to the rooftop, Lukas in tow.

They reached the top and stood on a section of roof that was left standing. A large hole had burned through another section, looking down into total darkness. “My stars, it’s probably soaked down to the basement!” sighed Jeimos.

“Probably full of pests too,” Lukas added. He got down on his knees at the edge of the hole and squinted, trying to see through the darkness below. “You and Evan will both need to replace your floors. Throw out all your clothes and anything upholstered, because I guarantee it’ll all be full of moths and rodents. Everything in the interior is basically fu—”

The charred beam gave way beneath him. Lukas yelped as he went crashing down into the room with a chunk of the roof.

Jeimos jumped. “Lukas!” they gasped. They paced back and forth on the roof, trying to find a safe way down. Once they remembered they could teleport, they clapped their hands and did so, disappearing in a burst of light. They reappeared in a pitch-black space. They snapped their fingers, willing a flame in their hand, and illuminated their third-floor bedroom in orange light.

They saw a great pile of shingles and debris lying near the wall. Beside that was their bed, strewn with more debris and also Lukas. He groaned as he sat upright, coughing up dust. “Ugh, you can smell the mold!” he cried.

Jeimos rushed to help him to his feet, extending their free hand. “Are you alright, chap?” they asked.

Brushing the soot from his pants, Lukas replied, “I will be. Pretty sure your bed is done for though.” He gestured to the bed behind him. The sheets were damp and rotted, blackened by fungus.

Jeimos took a quick look around the room and sighed, “Oh, you were right. It’s _all_ done for. My books, my lovely chairs, my poor stuffies…” They picked a plush bear off the floor, examining its filthy coat in dismay. “I have half a mind to abandon this old tower and start fresh. This is going to be so much bloody _work_ , my back is aching just thinking about it! Lukas, I just want to cry!”

Their voice began to quiver, tears welling in their eyes. Lukas grabbed their shoulders and told them, “No, no, come on. Don’t start with all that. Look, the structure is still plenty good. You were smart to build your house from stone! At least you didn’t build it out of _straw_ up in a _tree_ like a _moron_. Can you imagine? It could be a whole lot worse, so I don’t want to hear your blubbering.”

A little smile cracked through Jeimos’ tears. “You’re absolutely right,” they sniffled, wiping their eyes with their fingertips. “I have no business feeling sorry for myself. I just can’t wait until Disgrace is gone and we won’t have to think about this wretched day ever again.”

“You say that like we don’t make new enemies every day...”

“Well, none of them are even half as wretched as he is!”

They both jumped when a shingle broke off the roof and clattered into the room. “We should probably get out of here. It’s not safe to be poking around in the dark,” suggested Lukas.

Jeimos agreed, “Yes. I’ll have Mr. Olof inspect the structure tomorrow morning. We’ll just see if this place is even worth the effort…”

With that, they extinguished their flame and wrapped their arms around Lukas. The two of them disappeared in a burst of white light.

*

It was getting late. The mercenaries gathered at the plaza to call it a night, all except for Alaine, Glenvar, and Mr. Ocean. The trio had a plan, and they were determined to carry it out before they laid their heads down.

They had already been at it for hours, trying to dredge up Glenvar’s houseboat from the bottom of the lake. They snapped many ropes and failed many attempts, but still they did not give up. They braided three ropes into one to fortify them, making many ropes this way. Then Mr. Ocean dived into the lake and attached their ends to the front of the boat. Alaine and Glenvar attached the opposite ends to the crews’ four remaining horses and one mule.

Once Mr. Ocean emerged from the water, the three of them cheered and urged the horses away from the shore. Slowly, very slowly, the boat lifted up from the mud. “Don’t give up! Come on, horsies! Keep going, we believe in you!” cheered Alaine, slapping the mule on its behind. Labored breaths gusted from the animals’ nostrils. It seemed they were just as determined as the mercenaries, for they too did not give up until the boat’s red bow breached the surface.

The mercenaries pulled the ropes with all their might. Water poured out of every window of the vessel in great waterfalls, and it became lighter the more it drained. At long last, it had been saved from the depths. It sat upon the muddy shore, still spilling water from its nooks as the mercenaries danced around it with glee. They whooped and hollered and cheered, their voices carrying all the way back to the plaza. They could see the light of the big campfire glowing in the distance.

It was too dark to inspect the boat now, but even in the dim moonlight Glenvar could tell it was going to take weeks to repair. Everything inside was surely destroyed, but aside from a few holes that needed patching, the exterior was still in good shape.

Glenvar threw himself against its hull, embracing the vessel like a long-lost friend. He planted a kiss on the slimy planks and cried, “Ah, I can’t wait to get ya back on the water, ya big, beautiful clunker!”

With their Aquarian eyes, Alaine and Mr. Ocean could see much better in the dark than he could. Alaine’s gaze bounced up and down over the vessel. She said, “I don’t know, Glen. It looks pretty, uh, _soggy_. Do you really think you can save it?”

“Yeah, sure! Summer’s comin’, ain’t it?” replied Glenvar, patting its hull. “A full season of sun will dry her out like the Serkel Desert! I’ll have her lookin’ good as new come autumn! You’ll see!”

The streams of water pouring from the boat were growing thinner. One carried a wriggling trout straight out of the side window. The fish flopped on the ground right beside Glenvar’s feet. He let out a hearty laugh as he swiped it, holding it high above his head.

He exclaimed, “And look at that! The old clunker was so grateful, she brought us dinner! Told ya it was worth it!”

*

The refugees’ first night in the Hollow was not as quiet as they hoped. They had slept poorly on the journey here, assuming they would be more comfortable once they were back in their home territory. But this new, alien place simply didn’t feel like the home they knew.

Jeimos and Isaac shared a tent in the compound plaza. Isaac was full of anxious energy, and it seemed every time Jeimos was beginning to nod off, he had just “one more” thought to share.

“Hey, Jeimos,” he whispered. The elf snorted, shaken from their rest once again.

“Izzy, it’s so late. Please, go to sleep,” they groaned into their pillow.

Isaac told them, “I’m trying, but I just thought of something else and it’s keeping me awake. If you turned invisible with a spell and then cut yourself, would the blood be invisible when it came out?”

“If the caster was worth their salt, it should be,” answered Jeimos.

Satisfied, Isaac settled back into his bedroll. “Okay. Thanks. Good night,” he said.

A few peaceful minutes passed. Jeimos was slipping away from the waking world. They were suddenly reeled back in when Isaac whispered, “Hey, Jeimos. I just thought of another one…”

“Izzy! Really now!”

“Just real quick! Okay, so um, what if you were invisible and you ate some food that wasn’t. Does it become invisible too, or would it look like it’s floating around when it’s in your stomach?”

“That is a disturbing question. I don’t know the answer and I don’t even wish to. What makes you think I’m an expert on illusion spells anyway?”

With a shrug, Isaac answered, “I dunno. All magic’s kinda the same, isn’t it?”

“It most certainly is not! If that were so, I wouldn’t have spent two decades of my life learning teleportation. Each school of magic is its own complex science.”

“Oh.” The young mercenary settled back again, falling quiet. After a moment, he asked, “What if you eat some food while you’re invisible and then you poop it out? Does it become invisible then?”

Jeimos opened their mouth to scold him for such a question, but paused when they heard voices swelling up just outside the tent. By the sound of it, Lukas and Evan were having an argument in the tent beside theirs.

Jeimos and Isaac couldn’t help but eavesdrop as Lukas growled, “…it’s not a big deal! Just write a letter!”

Evan raised his voice back, “Who on Gaia asks their ex-lover for money? That’s ridiculous! _You_ write him, you’re his brother!”

“Ugh, they sound like my parents,” sighed Jeimos, pulling their pillow over their head. “If they hate eachother so much, why don’t they just get married already?”

The shocking sight Isaac witnessed at the Woodborne inn was still fresh in his mind, and he shuddered at the memory. “Oh man, I hope not…” he groaned.

He curled up and made an earnest attempt to fall asleep, only to be awoken by more voices. This time they were coming from the opposite side of them. Both his and Jeimos’ eyes opened wide, faces blanching when they heard loud cursing and moaning from Alaine and Glenvar’s tent. It seemed no one was getting to sleep tonight.

North of the compound was the village plaza, where the market and inn once stood among other things. Now there were only some tents and several crude lean-tos arranged in crooked lines. Like the mercenaries, the villagers were struggling to get comfortable.

Ginger and Itchy spent the day building a lean-to that was only marginally larger than their old tent. They lay inside together under its grassy roof. “Mom,” began Tomato, “when is Gramma gonna send us some money? I wanna get blankets so we don’t have to sleep on the dirt.”

Ginger hesitated. “Er, I know Gramma _said_ she would send us something, but she doesn’t have a lot of money to give. Don’t get too excited, okay?”

The boy frowned, furry ears drooping low. After a pause, he asked, “I hate this. Why are we always poor?”

Before Ginger could answer, Itchy snapped, “We ain’t poor, kiddo! Maybe we don’t got much gold, but who needs it anyway? You got a nice family that loves you. That’s more than a lot of people got. Now quit your bitchin’ and go to sleep.”

“Itchy! Language!” Ginger hissed.

Gwyneth and Brogan slept in the tent across from the satyr family’s lean-to. Rather, Gwyneth was trying to sleep through Brogan’s pestering. He kissed her neck and and groped her chest until she rolled over on her side, facing away from him. Hardly deterred, Brogan nibbled at her pointed ear.

Gwyneth’s patience quickly ran thin. She rolled over and slapped him across the face, leaving a red print on his cheek. “Get off me! Does it look like I’m in the mood for that?” she snapped.

“Come on, darlin’. Yer all wound up like a spring! It’ll help ya relax,” the satyr told her, moving in for another kiss.

She slapped him again before his lips made contact with hers. “Don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor, you horndog,” she said.

Brogan’s brows sagged. “Please?” he asked.

“And now you’re _begging_ like a dog.”

“Please, Gwynny, just let me love ya! It’s been too long, I can’t take it no more!”

The elfenne sighed, gruff and ragged from her throat. She was silent for a moment, feeling Brogan’s pleading stare boring into the back of her head. Then she pulled her gown up to her naval, spread her legs apart and said, “You better make it quick.”

Delighted, the satyr wasted no time scrambling on top of her. “Ya know I always do!” he said.

Not far from their tent, Philippa had built a lean-to big enough to shelter her. It was made from scavenged boards from the inn and the branches of fallen trees. She was nearly asleep when she heard footsteps approaching.

“Excuse me, Ms. Philippa? May I sleep here tonight?” whispered Dr. Che. Philippa blinked and squinted, barely able to make out his silhouette in the darkness, but his accent was unmistakable.

Philippa replied, “If you really want to. You won’t be able to see the stars from in here though.”

“No worry,” said Dr. Che, curling up on the ground beside her. “It is a cold night, but you are warm lady. Please do not roll on me or I will meet the death, okay?” He pressed his back against her warm equine flank.

The centaur shook her head and chuckled, “You’re a strange little man, Dr. Che…”

Down the road from the village plaza and off the beaten path, Balthazaar kneeled in the circle of stones that marked the graveyard. He stared up at the great wreath of flowers through his tears, Flora’s monument to the dead. His wife’s blackened skull stared back from the bottom of the wreath, surrounded by the skulls and bones of others claimed by Disgrace’s wrath.

These were the remains of the unfortunate ones. But were they really so unfortunate? Balthazaar had to wonder as life pained him so deeply. He had pulled out one of the gold rings in his ear and replaced it with one of Feredil’s treasured earrings. She once told him it was a family heirloom, it was priceless to her and she would never let it go.

He decided he would never let it go, as he would never let her go. He lay his head down in the clovers and fell asleep beside her.

*

Two busy weeks passed in the Hollow, and the mercenaries spent their every waking hour juggling construction and contracts. Today, Evan announced a very important contract with a handsome reward, if only they could pull it off. It was the most dangerous job he’d approved since they got back on their feet.

“Apparently there’s a big, nasty cyclops in Ulsenvik that needs a time-out,” he told his crew. “Mr. Thunderhorn, I’m sending you because you can shrug off the cold. You’ll be needing that where you’re headed. Ms. Elska, since you have prior experience with cyclopes, you’re going with him. And Mr. Ocean, you can stay hydrated in the snow, correct?”

“Correct. Snow is only fancy water, after all,” the cecaelia answered.

Evan continued, “Good, because I want you on this job too. Isaac, you’re in charge of transport. Any objections?”

None were had, and before they knew it, the four chosen mercenaries were touching down in the far-flung city of Ulsenvik. The city was nestled in the Shrieking Mountains, about as north as one could get on the continent of Noalen. Travelling there by ground was nearly impossible. Even flying there was a challenge due to the harsh winds that raged around it regardless of the season.

Ulsenvik was trapped in everlasting winter. The sky above was gray and dreary, the air bitter-cold, but none could deny the spectacular view from its peaks. It looked like many other Folkvaran territories, built from stone and heavy spruce logs from the northern forests. The buildings were tall and clustered closely together, greedily snatching up every bit of stable ground on the mountainside. Their distinct rooftops were so tall and angled so dramatically that no snow could accumulate upon them.

The chief’s advisor met the mercenaries near the town square. He was a scrawny elven man all bulked up in heavy wool and furs, much like everyone else in this region. He nearly slipped on the icy road as he stormed towards them.

“Thank the gods you’re finally here!” he panted. “Now I’m short on time, so listen closely! Some coal miners got reckless with their dynamite a while back and awakened some terrible brute on that mountain over there.” He pointed towards the towering peak behind them. “It’s been rampaging for weeks, meanwhile those miners are sitting on their backsides and our economy is dropping like a stone! We can’t afford to throw any more soldiers at this thing—we’re wasting enough of them on the blasted war as it is! I don’t care how you do it, just get rid of that damn monster and do it quick! Our bread and butter is on the line!”

The mercenaries barely got a chance to reply before the man whirled around and disappeared back into the town hall. The heavy door slammed behind him, kicking up a flurry of snow. Isaac turned to his fellow crewmen. “Did you guys get all that?” he queried. The others mumbled and shrugged their way back into Shadow’s gazebo. They could see a pathway leading up to the mountain in question, marked by flaming pillars.

Shadow followed the path by sky, and from above they could see a story unfold. The path ended at a mining camp, which was in total disarray. Heavy machinery had clearly gone untouched for weeks, buried in layers of snow. Half of the shacks were smashed down to rubble. The gaping entrance to the mine was littered with loose stone, as if detonated and then swiftly abandoned.

Isaac piloted Shadow forward, following the chaos further up the mountain. He squinted through the fog building up on his goggles, trying to survey the land. It seemed Elska’s vision was sharper than his, or perhaps she was just used to picking out things in the snow, given her mountainous origins. It was she who shouted from the gazebo, “I see movement below! Land here!”

Isaac took her word for it, piloting the roc in a downward curve. The gazebo crunched down in the snow and the mercenaries crept out, shielding their eyes from the icy wind. Such wind was creating a fog, and they could not see very far ahead. “I saw a behemoth creature in that direction,” insisted Elska, pointing to the north. A low, roaring sound carried over the wind. They felt a subtle tremor beneath their feet, followed by a crashing sound in the distance.

As they crept forward, a massive figure began taking shape through the fog. It was barely more than a silhouette, a hulking thing lumbering along on two legs. It flailed and let out another furious roar at the sky. Each plodding step it took quaked the ground. The creature stood as high as ten men.

“ _Someone’s_ got a bug in their britches,” muttered Glenvar. “Gods, look at the size of that fecker! He could swallow a horse whole!”

Isaac turned to Elska and asked, “You’ve killed one of these things before. What should we do?”

“Its skin is like stone. Your cursed scythe is the only blade that can harm it. But its fat is thick, so its brain will be the only organ within reach,” the centaur told him.

“You’re saying we have to knock it down, somehow,” said Isaac. His tone was flat with doubt. The cyclops’ every step was heavy and laborious, and pushing it over seemed no easier than pushing over a house.

“We could try rammin’ the bird into it,” suggested Glenvar, tipping his head towards Shadow.

Isaac hissed back, “Are you kidding? It’d be like throwing a canary at a brick wall!” He paused for a brief moment, then added, “Wait. Cyclopes can’t see very good, right? What if we got it to trip over something?”

“Perhaps we could send it over the cliffside,” added Mr. Ocean.

Isaac perked up. “Yeah! That’s perfect! Okay, what about this? I’ll head in first from the sky and distract it. You guys can approach from different directions, just make sure it doesn’t get too close to anyone. We’ll try to bully it towards that edge over there.” He pointed to the cliff overlooking the mining camp further below. “Sound good?”

With no better ideas of their own, his crewmen agreed and discreetly moved into different positions around the area. They took cover behind jagged, black stones capped with snow, trying to move as silently as possible. Cyclopes had poor vision indeed, but they could hear and smell well enough, and this one was already clearly agitated. It must have sensed Shadow flying in, they thought, for it roamed the area as if searching for intruders.

Isaac climbed back into Shadow’s saddle and took to the air. Her mighty, flapping wings did not go unnoticed by the cyclops, who suddenly spun around and searched the sky. Isaac called to the roc, “Shadow, speak!” and she obeyed, letting out a piercing screech. The sound only enraged the cyclops further. It roared back, squinting its single eyeball at the fog.

It never saw Shadow coming when she sped through the mist and dive-bombed it, launching off its horned head with her talons as she passed. Even her great bulk didn’t budge the monster. Though they were similar in size, the cyclops was a much denser creature. The best Shadow could do was swoop down and draw its attention it while the other mercenaries moved in.

Elska sped by and swung her longhammer at the back of its knee. By the time the cyclops turned around, she was already out of its reach. It turned the other direction when a stone bounced off its face. Glenvar stood some distance away, shouting and throwing whatever he could swipe. Before it could step towards him, Mr. Ocean aimed his wooden staff at it and cast a spell, pulsing the water in its body.

The cyclops bellowed, bringing its club-like hands to its head. Tears gushed from its eye, but it quickly shook off the effect and suddenly charged towards Elska. The centaur tried to scramble away, hooves struggling through the deep snow. The cyclops stepped through it with ease, violently quaking the ground with each footfall. It quickly caught up to her, stubby fingers closing around her equine body. It lifted her up like a toy and drew back its arm as if to throw her.

It never got the chance, for Shadow swooped down and clutched its horns with her talons, madly flapping her wings. Its wail shook the air. Elska dropped from its grip, landing in the snow drift below. She made her escape, but Isaac wasn’t quick enough. The cyclops swung its hand and slapped Shadow away. The roc sailed some distance before making a clumsy landing in the snow. Isaac was thrown from her back. He kept a tight hold on his scythe as he rolled across the ground.

The cyclops stomped towards him. Mr. Ocean intercepted it with another spell, casting an orb of bright light in front of its face. The cyclops staggered back, swatting at the light like a fly. It was moving away from the cliff’s edge.

“Turn it around, Wiggles! It’s goin’ the wrong way!” urged Glenvar. The cecaelia climbed atop a boulder to better see his target, directing the orb to float behind the cyclops’ head. Naturally, the cyclops whirled around to follow it. It flailed at the orb as if it were being attacked by an insect. All the while, Shadow was hobbling away as Isaac rushed to her aid.

The orb wasn’t the only light glowing in the fog. The cyclops noticed the end of the cecaelia’s staff glowing as well, and it seemed to make the connection. It picked up a heavy boulder and launched it towards him. There was little time to react. Mr. Ocean leaped backwards off his perch, the boulder just barely grazing his nose as it sailed by and crashed into the side of a cliff. A fissure opened up on its rocky face, and then the face began to crack. The mercenaries could hear a low rumble as the stone broke apart within.

The monster charged towards Shadow and Isaac next. Shadow hobbled through the deep snow in a panic, trying to get away. Isaac had no choice but to flee. The roc could not flap her wings fast enough, and she was flung over the cliffside. Isaac cried out, watching in horror as she flapped and screeched all the way down. He could not see her through the fog, he could only hear her crash echo up from the depths and pray that she survived.

Isaac was overcome by fury. He tore through the snow and began slashing at the monster’s ankle with his scythe. Each slash opened deep crags that did not bleed, for the length of his crescent blade could not penetrate its many layers of leathery flesh and blubber. His assault was a mere nuisance to the cyclops, which lifted its foot and tried to stomp him. Every movement was slow and cumbersome. Isaac rolled out of the way with ease, only to spring up and slash at its other leg.

Elska and Glenvar tried to get its attention off Isaac, hollering and throwing snowballs from either side of the creature. Scooping up a great fistful of snow, the cyclops pitched one back at Glenvar. There was no avoiding it, and the man instantly disappeared in a great white flash. Having shaken off his daze, Mr. Ocean staggered out from behind the boulder and launched another spell. He conjured another projection of light, but this time, it took the abstract shape of another cyclops.

It was only an image, an illusion with no mass. But it was enough to fool the cyclops, which immediately lumbered towards it with a terrible howl. Mr. Ocean’s hands trembled, expression hardened with exertion as he controlled the illusion. Such a large and intricate projection was hard to maintain, and like a puppeteer, he pulled its invisible strings and decided its every move. The false cyclops staggered backwards, leading the true cyclops to the cliff’s edge.

Its movements were weightless and unnatural. The true cyclops caught up to it in no time and swung its fist at its head. The fist phased right through. Though cyclopes were notoriously dumb, this intricate spell would not fool it for long. Mr. Ocean guided the illusion to swing back, trying to goad it closer to the cliff’s edge. Isaac and Elska attacked its legs all the while, trying to weaken its knees. The cyclops barely noticed their assault until the illusion before it began to waver.

Mr. Ocean gnashed his teeth, trying to hold it together. But the image soon fell apart into an abstract mess, and the cyclops was fooled no more. Its round eye flicked down at Isaac, tearing apart its shin. It picked him up in a flash, and Mr. Ocean and Elska watched helplessly as he was tossed over the cliff.

The cyclops focused its eye on Elska next. She darted away, narrowly avoiding its reaching hand when it stooped over. As it did, she kicked its shredded knee with her hind hooves, hoping it would knock the creature off balance. But the cyclops didn’t budge, still as solid and immoveable as the mountain.

While it was distracted, Mr. Ocean hurried to the hill of snow where Glenvar was buried. He probed his staff deep into different points of the drift. Finally, something tugged back. He pulled the staff out with a labored grunt and Glenvar came with it, gasping for breath. The two heard a familiar screech, and when they turned back to the cliff’s edge, they saw Shadow darting around the cyclops in fast, aggressive arcs.

She must have caught Isaac before he met his doom, because the young mercenary was sitting in her saddle unharmed. He swiped at the cyclops each time Shadow passed, opening long tears across its body. The monster shielded its head with its great arms. It hunched down and stabilized itself, sacrificing one arm to take a swing. It barely missed the roc, who curved back around and allowed Isaac to open a deep crag down its other forearm.

A deafening crack ripped across the sky. The battle paused, all eyes shifting to the mountain above. The cyclops’ boulder had cracked it from the inside out, and now great chunks of its face were falling away. A rockslide was inevitable, and it was coming fast.

“That cliff’s comin’ down, _maskas_!” warned Glenvar, but Isaac was already ahead of him. Shadow snatched Elska in her talons, carrying her over to the others. Mr. Ocean hugged Glenvar tight and coiled his tentacles around Shadow’s leg. The mercenaries were airborne just a second before the cliff came tumbling down in a violent wave of snow and stone.

They watched from the air in awe. The face of the mountain seemed to become liquid, spilling down and spreading across the land. There was nowhere for the cyclops to run. It let out one last angry bellow before the wave washed it over the cliffside. It disappeared through the fog with a thunderous boom.

The mercenaries hovered there, waiting for the chaos to settle. After a few minutes, the mountain fell silent once more. Isaac guided Shadow in a cautious descent back to the mining camp. Half of it was buried beneath a new mountain of loose stones when they arrived, and the cyclops was nowhere to be found. Shadow landed atop the massive pile of debris and the mercenaries disembarked.

Elska stomped her hoof against the stones twice and listened closely. There was no sound or sign of movement back.

“Think it’s really dead?” queried Isaac.

Glenvar waved his hand and replied, “Pff, come on! How could it not be? Nothin’ could survive that!”

Then, as if only to make a fool of him, the pile began to quake. Shadow squawked with fright, the mercenaries struggling to keep their balance under the shifting stones. A great, leathery hand emerged before them, shortly followed by the head and torso of the cyclops. It hadn’t a scratch upon its bumpy hide, and it blasted foul air in their faces when it roared. It was well within reach to scoop them into its gaping maw and swallow them all whole.

It was also within reach of Isaac’s scythe. The mercenary sprang into action, crying out as he brought his blade down at a tall arc. It pierced deep into the cyclops’ eye and through it brain. Isaac swiped the scythe sideways, ripping through half of its skull to finish it off. Black blood gushed from the wound, spraying him from head to toe. The others recoiled in disgust.

The cyclops raised a fist to crush them. The last of its life force drained before it followed through, and its whole body slumped limply, fist uncurling beside them. Glenvar cautiously prodded its calloused fingertips with his axe. It did not move again.

“The monster is vanquished!” announced Elska. She raised her longhammer high with pride, and the others followed suit with a round of cheers. They made their way down from the pile of stony debris, and at the same time, feminine figures began to emerge from the mineshaft across the clearing. The mercenaries braced themselves, readying their weapons, but the figures only raised their empty palms.

They were oreads, nymphs of the land. There were perhaps two dozen of them gathering near the mineshaft. Their complexions ranged from warm bronze to jet black. Their nude bodies gleamed with a metallic sheen, peppered head to toe with shards of different gems, faceted metals, and minerals. There was not a single hair upon their heads or bodies, only chunks of various earth elements they had chiseled into intricate shapes.

The nymphs crept towards the mercenaries with caution. “Y-you destroyed the cyclops! Finally, we are free of that wretched thing!” one oread cried.

Isaac jerked his thumb back at the dead monster and queried, “We had a contract from Ulsenvik’s chief. That thing was bothering you too, huh?”

“It terrorized us for weeks! We could not leave the cave for even a moment!” another nymph told them.

Yet another added, “That creepy monster hugged our sisters so tight, it crushed them to dust right in front of our eyes!”

“We are sorry for your loss. But you need not live in fear, you are safe from its tyranny now and forever,” Elska assured them, resting her hammer against her shoulder.

The first oread said, “You’re heroes! We thought no one would ever come to save us! Things became so dire, we started building a terragladius to fight that thing off!”

“No need to bring titans into this, _stiras_ ,” chuckled Glenvar. “You can take that thing apart ‘n rest easy.”

Just then, a low, metallic sound groaned out from the mineshaft. Something heavy and formidable was clanking its way up from the depths. A sheepish smile spread across the oread’s face. “Um, it’s _slightly_ too late for that now. W-we have to go! So sorry!”

With that, she and the other oreads bolted off in different directions, disappearing in the crags of the mountain.

The mercenaries stood their ground, jaws dropping in awe when a hulking creature crawled out of the cave. Despite the gaping, dynamite-blown entrance, the terragladius had to squeeze through on its knees. Once outside, it stood up to its full height and loomed over everything around it. It was a bipedal construct of stone and metal plates, all held together by webs of magical energy. Its spiked head pivoted on its shoulders, facing the mercenaries with two white eyes glowing in the dark void of its face.

It raised one arm, pointing at them threateningly. It had a massive blade in place of a hand. Abrasive scraping sounds creaked from its joints with every move as it slowly lumbered towards them. Isaac climbed back into Shadow’s saddle and sighed, “Guess the job’s not over yet.”

*

Back in the Hollow, villagers and mercenaries worked fervently to finish construction before the cold season arrived. Much progress was made over the weeks, but there was still plenty more to do before everyone had a stable roof over their heads.

Drifter’s Hollow stuck out like a sore thumb from the skies, no longer concealed by trees. It was a vast open space in the middle of a once lush forest. Shadow made her landing in this clearing, right in the compound plaza. Her passengers returned from Ulsenvik battered and exhausted, but somehow alive with a fat sack of gold to show for it.

Isaac took the gold back to Evan, who was working out of his tent for now. It was the captain’s responsibility to calculate business costs and divide the gold accordingly, then his crewmen would see their pay at the end of the week. Between equipment repairs, travel costs, and medical bills, some contracts were barely worth it. This time, they made sure they got their dues.

The sack of gold dropped in front of Evan’s crossed legs, and Isaac was not far behind. He kneeled before the captain with a pained grunt. “We finished the Ulsenvik job,” he reported.

Evan was surrounded by folders full of paperwork. He pushed them aside to count the coins and asked, “Well, how did it go?”

“It sucked fat nuts,” Isaac told him flatly.

Evan looked up from the coins, furrowing his brow. “Isaac, don’t talk that way.”

“Sorry,” Isaac apologized, swiping at his neck. “I just spent three days with Glen, so…Anyway, we got smacked around by the biggest cyclops I’ve ever seen, then a titan nymph showed up on top of that. If we just waited five minutes longer, they would’ve taken eachother out and we wouldn’t have had to do anything!”

Evan cocked his head. “A titan nymph?”

“Yeah, a terragladius. Actually, it’s a good thing we showed up, because that thing probably would’ve killed the cyclops and turned on Ulsenvik.” Isaac scratched his chin. “The client didn’t see it that way though. He didn’t want to pay us at all ‘cause he said we damaged the mine. I mean, at least ‘til Glen threatened to rip out his tongue and strangle him with it.”

Evan sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “Damn it, Glenvar…”

Isaac continued, “But it’s okay! The guy changed his tune real quick and we got a good bonus out of it. I bet we could afford another load of bricks for the village.”

Evan suddenly perked up. “Oh! Speaking of that, I have a surprise for you. Come with me.”

Curious, Isaac stood up and followed Evan out of the tent. The captain led him down the trail to his old stone house, where most of the vines had been cleared away. Most notably, the charred trunk lying across the roof was gone and so too was the hole it left behind. From the outside, at least, the house looked almost good as new.

“Woah! You got the roof fixed?” blurted Isaac.

Evan smiled. “Not just that,” he began, opening the front door. “But we did some cleaning inside too! It’s definitely not perfect, but it’s livable for now.”

Isaac stepped inside, looking all around at the sitting room. All of the furniture and even the damp, rotten floorboards had been removed, exposing a floor of barren dirt. A large rug lay in its center with a few cushions on it for sitting. Some crude shelves were set up against the wall, built from planks stacked on stone blocks. It was filled with a few hundred books which were warped with water-damage, but apparently still good enough to be salvaged.

Isaac roamed into the kitchen. This room was mostly made of stone and had seen the least amount of damage. Except for some weeds growing through the tiles, it looked no worse for wear. “The Guys really pushed hard to get this done before you got back,” said Evan. “Your old room is all cleaned up and ready to move in! Now, _my_ room is another story...I still have to drag the furniture out of there and burn it. It’s all infested with mold and critters.”

Isaac turned back to him. “Need some help?” he asked.

“I never _need_ help. But I always appreciate it.”

A tiny smile crossed Isaac’s face. He said, “So, I guess I’m back in the attic, huh?”

Evan assured him, “Just for now. At the rate we’re going, things will be back to normal in no time.”

After a long pause, Isaac told him, “You know what’s sad? Fighting two giants on top of a mountain is the most normal thing that’s happened to me in months. That’s where my life is at.”

Evan laughed, “Tell me about it! I’ve slayed more beasts, arrested more bandits, and wrangled more monsters than I can count, but this is the first time in my life I’ve ever shingled a roof. I hope it doesn’t leak.” He glanced up at the ceiling with a look of uncertainty.

“I guess we’ll find out,” said Isaac, opening the door to the captain’s bedroom. He jumped back with a yelp when a raccoon darted out, disappearing into the kitchen. They heard it scrambling around behind the doorway for an escape, knocking down pots and pans.

“I told you there’s critters in there,” said Evan, rolling up his long sleeves. “Let’s open the windows and try to flush ‘em out.”

Isaac crossed the room and opened the window in the hall, looking out to the overgrown pasture. The collapsed barn was buried under green growth. “Hey,” he began, “when do you think we’ll get more cows?”

Evan pushed the front window open and added, “Ah, I forgot to mention, we turned the old pasture into a forest shrine. Don’t touch anything inside that fence or the nymphs will have a conniption. I suppose we can get another cow someday, but remember that any space it uses to graze is space we have to reserve somewhere else for a shrine. We can’t just do things on a whim like we used to. Every move we make has a bigger impact on this place than it seems.”

“I wish you didn’t give those nymphs so much power,” grumped Isaac. He pulled the raccoon out of a cabinet and gently tossed it out the window.

“I’m sorry. I know they’re bossy and they don’t like us much,” Evan began, “but I think they do know what’s best for Gaia. And ultimately, what benefits Gaia will benefit us in the long run. Say what you want about us Evangelites—I’m sure it’s well-deserved—but in our culture, we treat the land and its nymphs with respect. Bless the soil today and it’ll bless the orchards of your kin.” He shrugged. “Or so we’re told. Maybe it’s all hogwash, but it’s how I was raised. That’s the reason I agreed to their terms. If we sow peace with the nymphs now, we’ll reap the rewards later.”

“What kind of rewards? You mean, like, money?”

“Not exactly. I was thinking more along the lines of friendship. You know, diplomacy. An alliance.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible…They seem to think we’re the bad guys,” mumbled Isaac.

Evan told him, “Then let’s work hard and prove that we’re Good Guys.”

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the story or have any criticisms, kudos and feedback are appreciated!
> 
> The villagers are on thin ice with the local nymphs. Will the Freelance Good Guys be able to win their hearts, or will they end up waging war? We'll find out in future stories, so be sure to subscribe to this series if you want to see more. :)


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